Ramblings on libraries and life upon the wicked stage

Lightning may or may not strike twice, but midnight most certainly can. During the last two weeks of August, I revisited a show I first performed in during 2010, When Midnight Strikes. Although this production of the show was with the same company as the first (Lights Up Productions), there were many differences – only a few cast members were the same, it was performed in a different venue, and we put it together over an intensive nine days of rehearsals. For me, though, a key difference was that I was playing a different character. Quite a challenge, and quite a fascinating experience seeing the show from a different perspective.

Last time I did the show, I was worried about letting others and myself down because the role was so different to the sorts of things I usually do. This time, I was worried because the role was quite similar to my usual casting – a character who exists almost entirely for comic purposes, a function much needed in what is quite an emotional show. What worried me was knowing that the comedy needed to be funny, but my character, Edward, needed to remain real. It would be detrimental to the style of the show if he came across as a broad caricature, and given that I have played several parts recently where hamming it up was strongly encouraged, I didn’t want to give in to that temptation.

Edward is one of the outsiders at the party which the show follows. Although he was invited (unlike some of the eventual ‘guests’), he does not fit in, to the extent that even the host and hostess don’t really want to talk to him. He falls in love at first sight with another character, but is far too nervous to actually talk to her, and makes a number of social mistakes throughout the course of the evening. For me, to make him real, I had to live inside his world for the whole show and think whatever he was thinking, even if I was sitting on a chair at the back of the set. Whether he was trying to join a conversation, working out how to talk to his intended love, or wondering whether a shocking announcement was true, he was always thinking something. And although he sometimes put on a cheerful front (particularly once the alcohol had been flowing for a while), there was a profound sadness to him. He desperately wanted to fit in, but knew that he didn’t. Even when things began to go his way, in his/my mind, he couldn’t quite believe it was really happening. Most of these thoughts and feelings would have gone completely unnoticed by the audience, but they helped me a great deal.

Nine days of rehearsal was a tight schedule, but still allowed for plenty of character work alongside the technical necessities of working out who goes where and when everyone’s head should move in the ensemble numbers. We would often stop to work out what each character’s reaction to a particular moment was, and we were strongly encouraged to develop our own storylines when we weren’t directly involved with the action. As the show is set at a party, we were all on stage for much of it – what were we doing, thinking, feeling during those times when we weren’t talking or even when we weren’t aware of what was being said by other characters? The ensemble nature of the show meant that the 12 different personalities interacted in numerous (sometimes quite complex) ways, and exploring these was fascinating.

Our director and musical director were both very keen on details. There were times when we all had to breathe in a song, regardless of whether we needed to take in air. There were head movements that had to happen at exactly the same time. Certain props needed to move from one place to another at exactly the right moment. Good enough was not good enough – we were aiming higher than that. All of this (in addition to the individual details) helped bring the ensemble together as a true ensemble. By the time we arrived in the theatre, the whole team (actors, musicians, stage management etc) was a team. We were all doing this together and it was worth doing.

We know it was worth doing from the reaction we’ve had since. People really enjoyed the show, and fed back positively about everyone involved. There really wasn’t a weak link in the cast (if we’re honest, we all know that there usually is, and we always know who it was) and it is a privilege to have been involved with the production. We coped with some major challenges, both emotional and technical and put on a great piece of theatre. Personally, I know I made a far better Edward than Christopher (the role I played last time). There are still things I’d like to have done better, but this was definitely a productive use of two weeks of my annual leave. There aren’t many shows I feel the need to revisit, but I would happily have midnight strike a third time in my life.

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Although I have performed in everything from seventeenth-century opera to recent shows which began life on Broadway or the West End, it is particularly exciting to get to sing something which nobody else has sung before. New works I’ve performed in include the Christmas oratorio Prepare the Way by Phil Hornsey and the musical Behind Closed Doors by Stephen Clee.

Last year, I was contacted by Ethan Lewis Maltby, who I know from performing in the ensemble of his musical Courtenay. He was recording material from 3 of his shows, and asked me to participate in two of them. Firstly, B Musical, a science-fiction piece about the alien invasion of a small town. And secondly, Apparition Smith, a 19th-century tale about a group who put on fake séances. The material from B Musical had been recorded before, though the show has yet to be performed, and the pieces from Apparition Smith were as yet unheard.

This was exciting – it was great (and rather flattering) to be asked to take part and exciting to sing something new. I therefore spent some time learning the music and a few evenings recording it. Recording is an unusual experience – there is no audience to play to and the environment is a strange one. Unlike in live performance, there is nothing you can do to hide, but you can go back and fix even the slightest error, and do it as many times as is necessary to get it just right. Of course, this didn’t mean that I didn’t get annoyed with myself when things didn’t go right – quite the reverse! There were bits of the section I sang in B Musical which made me more and more cross with myself as I struggled to get them right. Ethan and Jenna (the lyricist for Apparition Smith, who also did the sound engineering – a skill I am in awe of) were very patient, but I dread to think how many attempts we must have made.

A little while later, the results of everyone’s work were released, and sound great! They have been made available on-line, and I really hope that they lead to the shows being picked up for production – I would be happy to see any one of them on the stage. Each has its own website:

Apparition Smith. The tale of Nathanial Smith, a charismatic conman who travels 19th-century Britain setting up fake séances. I can be heard on the tracks ‘The Legend of Apparition Smith’ as a Legend-Teller and ‘Setting Up For a Séance’ as Ed.

B-Musical. A comedy about a typical American family who have to deal with the somewhat unexpected arrival of aliens in their community. I play the part of Pa, and can be heard on the tracks ‘Strangeness About’ and ‘Tantrum’

Courtenay. The true story of the remarkable Sir William Courtenay and of the last battle fought on mainland English soil. I don’t sing on this one, but you won’t regret checking it out!

If you’re curious about what singing librarians sound like, have a listen. If you like checking out new writing in musical theatre, have a listen. If you… well, just have a listen. Ethan and his lyricists are talented people, and their work deserves to be heard and seen. The three shows have very different sounds and styles and offer proof (if proof were needed) that there is great work in British musical theatre going unheard.

If you are particularly pressed for time, I am most pleased with ‘The Legend of Apparition Smith’. Most unusually, I can listen to that track without feeling embarrassed about hearing my own voice. You could possibly even say that I’m proud of my work there – an astonishing feat worthy of Apparition Smith himself!

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I have various talents in life, and one of them is an amazing ability to make a huge mountain out of the smallest of molehills. This is most evident on stage – a case in point being Guys and Dolls.

I performed in Guys and Dolls last month, playing Nicely Nicely Johnson (otherwise known as “you know, the one who sings ‘Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ the Boat'”). Things went really rather well, if the audience’s reaction is anything to go by, but there was one particular night which allowed me to demonstrate my mountain-making talents in addition to performing.

Things began well with the ‘Fugue for Tinhorns’, but in the dialogue after that, something very unusual happened. I dropped a line. I was so busy reacting to what the character Nathan had just said, that I momentarily forgot that I was supposed to say something. Luckily, he covered for me by adding a reaction comment of his own, which allowed me time to recover and come back in with the line. Hardly earth-shattering, but as I have a reputation for knowing not only my lines, but everyone else’s as well, certainly noticeable to cast and crew, and cause for much self-annoyance. Already cross with myself for this momentary lapse of concentration, I then managed to annoy myself further in the number ‘Guys and Dolls’, which has a dance break half way through. At one point in this break, I managed to get a beat or so out of time, so that it looked as though myself and my duet partner were in canon with each other rather than in synch. I doubt the audience would have noticed (when there are only two of you dancing, moments like that can be got away with to an extent), and I soon got back in to it, but I was still mightily annoyed with myself afterwards.

The Singing Librarian as Nicely Nicely Johnson, surrounded by the gamblers.

These little things, and a couple of others (also things which the audience would not have noticed and most people would just shrug off), began to mount up during the evening until we got to ‘Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ the Boat’. This is surely the best song in the show, and was great fun to perform, but on that night it wasn’t quite so enjoyable. At the start of the third verse, I had to leap up on to some benches. As I did so, my subconscious decided this would be a good time to inform my conscious mind of something – that my costume for the finale of the show was in my dressing room. Not a problem, you might think. However, it wasn’t supposed to be there. It was supposed to be in a quick change room by the stage to ensure that I had time to change costume, put on my tap shoes and strap on a bass drum. The thought of having to dash down to the dressing room, which would involve going through about 5 doors and down the stairs, was not a fun one. For a moment, it distracted me and I stumbled over the first line of the verse. By the fourth word (laughed, if you need to know such things) I had recovered, and carried on as before. However, I was exceptionally annoyed with myself, and it did worry some other people as well. One of the ladies in the chorus said she thought I might not sing the verse at all, the musical director was rather concerned, and one of my fellow gamblers reported that I suddenly went deathly pale at that moment, which must have been quite alarming for him.

With the song and the scene over, I was fuming at myself, annoyed about all the small mistakes I’d made, annoyed that I had forgotten to take my costume up to the quick change room, and particularly annoyed that I had let this distract me on stage, even for a moment. As soon as we were able to move, I dashed off towards the dressing room. I managed to collide with two other gamblers on the way, then fall over on my way down the stairs. I managed to get back in time for the drum, but by that point was extremely frustrated with myself and just wanted the evening to be over and done with. As I checked, in a very flustered way, that all the buttons on my costume were done up, I accidentally worried another of the guys in the cast, who thought I was on the brink of a heart attack, and knew that a bass drum strapped to me would not make dealing with this very easy.

After the show, I was simply mortified. Small mistakes which with hindsight I can see hardly anyone would have noticed, had assumed monstrous size in my mind, and I felt that I had let everyone down due to not living up to my reputation. The mistakes probably amounted to five seconds of stage time in total, if that, but to me that was more than enough to make the performance a disaster. I have since been assured that it really wasn’t, and I did soon realise that a little perspective was rather necessary. Mountains and molehills.

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On Thursday, this being the centenary week of the sinking of RMS Titanic, I travelled up to Bromley after work to watch West Wickham Operatic Society’s great production of Titanic the musical.

Titanic the Musical. Sounds crass, doesn’t it? Those three words conjure images of flying icebergs, substandard cover versions of Celine Dion and the horrifying possibility of a tap dance to the strains of Wallace Hartley’s band.

Thankfully, none of these things form part of this show, and strangely it is not just a show I enjoyed watching, it’s one of the shows I’m proudest of having appeared in. First performed on Broadway in 1997, Titanic has music by Maury Yeston and a script by Peter Stone. It features dozens of named characters – all bar one of them actually sailed on the great ship’s fateful voyage. The ‘star’ is the entire company, and nobody’s heart goes on. At least, not in so many words.

I had the great fortune to perform in Titanic during November 2008, playing the character of Harold Bride, one of the telegraph operators on the ship. I was one of a privileged few members of the cast who only played one character (some, even with well over 50 people on stage, were obliged to take on 3 or more roles), and he was a character I came to love. We were encouraged to research the people we were playing, which made the rehearsal process more educational than for your standard show! We all knew where the authors had deviated from a totally accurate portrayal of events in service of dramatic effectiveness, and as we truly appreciated the reality of the people we were portraying, more than a few tears were shed in rehearsal.

The scale of the show is huge, following characters from all three classes on the ship as well as a number of crewmen from captain to stoker, chief steward to bellboy. Each has their hopes and dreams, each has their own way of speaking. Despite the parade of characters, the audience is somehow never lost and the wide focus makes it clear that this show is not about one or two passengers, but about the ship and all who sailed on her. Although much of the dialogue is laden with irony due to the audience knowing what’s coming, it never descends into spoof and instead of being crass it serves as a memorial to the great ship and all who sailed on her. Their hopes and dreams, their strengths and weaknesses, their failures, their heroism and above all their humanity.

The voyage of RMS Titanic is a legend. This year, there will be many productions of the musical around the world. Don’t be put off. Go. The music is majestic, the ensemble singing is amazing and the show pays homage to those who were lost without being over-sentimental. There simply is no better dramatisation of these events.

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Sometimes, it’s fun to scare yourself a little. Roller-coasters. New culinary sensations. Whatever gets the adrenaline pumping. So why not put on a show with one week of rehearsals? That’s pretty much what Lights Up Productions have been up to. It’s extraordinarily scary, but very exciting as well.

The show is I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change, a comic exploration of dating, romance, marriage and every aspect of love. The cast of eight portray dozens of characters as we move from first dates to meeting the parents, marriage, kids and beyond. The main ingredient in the rehearsal room has been laughter, as we have dissolved into fits of giggles (and the occasional snort) on many occasions. There are some serious bits as well, with some of the songs and sketches showing extraordinary honesty, particularly those which look at long-term relationships and at people coping with the loss of their loved ones.

That’s not modesty (false or otherwise) on my part, but the truth. I played Rapunzel’s Prince in Into the Woods and traditionally, the role of the Wolf is doubled by the actor playing Cinderella’s Prince (older brother to the prince I played). Certain other characters are traditionally doubled in the show, but as it happened, this was the only doubling in our production. There are many reasons why the original doubling is preserved. The biggest of them is probably that Cinderella’s Prince doesn’t make an appearance until after the Wolf has been done away with, whereas Rapunzel’s Prince has a scene between the Wolf’s two appearances on stage, making the costume change issue more complicated. This would also leave the prince’s steward free to double the role, and indeed this was originally mooted for us.

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It’s show week for Into the Woods and things are going well. We could do with selling a few hundred more tickets, but the feedback we’ve been getting from audiences has been wonderful. It was quite wonderful to finally get on stage after six months of rehearsal, and it was a particular treat because the set smelt really beautiful at first, as it includes fresh pine – lovely!

At various points in the show, some of the characters consider the lessons they have been learning on their journeys through the woods (though it soon becomes evident that some of them learn nothing at all). So what have I been learning?

A moment of vagueness means a few bars of miming.

The slippier the shoes, the further the slide.

The hair of a wig tastes most foul in the mouth.

Entering too early is embarrassing for all.

You may know it’s all good and all learnt and all ready, but you’re pleased when the audience laughs.

And finally, I have learned that if you are going to cut yourself shaving, the day of the dress rehearsal is not a good time to do it. Having to apply and remove make-up at least twice (depending on how difficult a particular make-up moment turns out to be) means that the cut doesn’t have a chance to heal and actually gets worse. Oops.

Into the Woods is a very special show indeed, and touches my heartstrings in unexpected ways. I have tried to explain what the show is about over at a site devoted to East Kent theatre – Stage Corner.